The Day A Person Lived

     It's a funny thing as you get older. You think you know who you are and then you wake up one day and you can't recognize yourself. Every time you pass by a mirror, you steal a quick glance just to make sure the person inside of your head wears the same face as the person who gazed back yesterday. And, of course, the same brown eyes, the same mouth, the same little freckle on your left cheek are all the same. The way you stand with your feet turned out and your hand on your hip, the laziness of your posture, the way your head tilts slightly to the side, is indeed the person who stood across from you a year ago, or even five. But the eyes are unsure, the mouth isn't curved up in a knowing smile, there is an awkwardness in the way you hold yourself, as if you are not the owner of the body in which you stand, a mere echo of the person who once was.
    You go on, lying to yourself every day that you haven't changed, that you are no different than the vibrant being who once walked the earth but is now almost extinct. You were full of life, the excitement of simply existing used to flood your veins with happiness, coursing through your body like electricity, lighting the way. You once thought you knew your path, where you were supposed to go, what you were supposed to do, your purpose. But one day, you woke up and realized you weren't that sure anymore, that there is more grey in the world than black and white, and that you aren't really certain on whose side you stand, what you believe, or who you belong with. The idea of this is simply torturous. It is frightening, wholly unnerving, and beyond your capacity to cope with. The thoughts are eating you alive so you decide to put them away, bury them in the deepest recesses of your mind and shut them off completely before they destroy you. And you go on with your life, but you aren't really living, merely existing, floating through time as a sad memory of the person who once was, who once was allowed to be free.
     But that person is still alive, screaming inside to be let out again, to be allowed to breath, to live again. They are trapped inside of you, fighting a war to survive. And that person hangs on, even if only by a mere thread, for they cannot die, they are who you truly are even if you seem to not remember what it ever felt like to not be hollow, to not be this shell of a person you have become. That person, your true self, will always exist, for it is the only part of you released from the limitations of human form. It is your essence, your spirit, your soul.
     And someday, something small perhaps, will awaken it. It could be something as insignificant as a glimpse of the sun on the first true day of spring, or maybe a conversation with a friend, possibly completely unrelated, that jolts the memory of who you once were. And for the first time, you are forced to face the fear which you suppressed. To accept that you really have become someone unrecognizable, a shadow. It is painful, excruciating even, to realize what you have tried so hard to ignore. But this excruciating pain, you find, is actually bearable, a relief, even, from the numbness and unfeeling which you have experienced for so long. In a matter of seconds you heal.
      All of a sudden, the happiness you feel is inexplicable and you realize that the way you have been viewing life, the world, and yourself is totally wrong and that finally you understand. It is blissful and peaceful. It beings in your chests, welling up and spreading through your legs, through your arms, down to your finger and toes.You feel whole for the first time since your true self was chained up and locked away. You are once again living. You are happy. And once again you know exactly who you truly are. You are you.